I’ve just spent the last seven weeks with
family in London. When you live as far away as Riyadh, family time becomes very
precious, and so there are many, many tales I could tell – feeding the pelicans
in St James Park, doing the London Eye, a Dedication service and a Very Hungry
Caterpillar themed first birthday party.
But if I had to choose just one story, this
would be it. It’s the story of a small boy and a yellow plastic duck. It began with some plants - geranium, lobelia and lavender - all bought from the hardware shop down the road. It continued with their need for water, and someone, who having already helped with the potting, wanted to carry on helping with the watering.
The next part of the story was the shop around the corner, the Happy Shopper. “You’ll find a watering can there”, my daughter had said. “They have everything.”
So I wasn’t surprised when I asked, and Harry the shop owner nodded from behind the counter. He went to get his ladder and climbed to a high
shelf in the corner. “This one?” he said wielding a tin can in the air, and
wobbling just a little on the top rung of the ladder. “Hmm,” I said. “It’s a
bit big,” and explained that it was not for me but the small person currently
smiling and chatting away in the buggy beside me. “What about that?” I asked pointing to a
yellow plastic duck I’d just spotted, a little further along the shelf.
A few minutes later we left the Happy Shopper and its jam-packed shelves.
The little one was happily clutching his yellow plastic duck and making loud
quacking noises to it and all and sundry who passed by. I figured that at £4,95, even if
it was terrible as a watering can, I'd already had my return just in
entertainment value.
Back at home it was afternoon tea time and
Duck sat very close to the high chair and was offered his fair share of
blueberries and water from Tommy Tippee. Then the three of us ventured out into
the sunny back yard for the all important watering test run.
This was the best of all. The duck was
perfect. It was just the right size and shape for a little hand to grasp, and
the small trickle that came from its bill perfect for pouring over the
plants. And of course there was the additional
fun of letting some of the water course over toes and onto the ground, making dusty
puddles for little feet to stamp in.
Now that we’ve had our practice and the
plants have been well and truly watered, Duck sits alone outside, waiting patiently
for tomorrow when someone will reach down again, and with appropriate duck like
quacking sounds, grab the handle and pour some much needed water over the small
collection of backyard plants.
And, even though I've left London and I’m a long way away again, I guess that the day after tomorrow will be the same all over again.
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